


Invasion of Privacy

by sophisticatedyet



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternative Universe - FBI, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Humor, M/M, it's a creepy premise I know but fun to explore if you don't put too much thought into it, put tape over your webcams kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisticatedyet/pseuds/sophisticatedyet
Summary: Stiles Stilinski is a rookie FBI Agent and there's only one job that rookies ever get given: surveillance. Hours upon hours of one-on-one monitoring. It's a boring job, made worse because Stiles has been assigned the most ordinary, boring civilian; seriously, Derek Hale doesn't evenjaywalk, let alone come close to committing a federal crime. After six solid months of nothing, Stiles is pretty sure he's going to die of boredom before he gets promoted.That's until a midnight visitor causes Stiles to intervene in Derek's life. And things go from there...(Based on the FBI/NSA Agent meme that's been floating around.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *writes this entire fic while staring dead into my webcam, daring my FBI agent to fall in love with me*
> 
> My FBI Agent: It’s 2018 and you’re writing Teen Wolf fanfiction based on a meme, no one is ever going to love you.
> 
>  
> 
> Based on [this post](http://sophisticatedyet.tumblr.com/post/170492024567/petty-dabbler-of-the-dark-arts-moxperidot-my) and [this post by hoechloin:)](http://hoechloin.tumblr.com/post/170431667372/now-i-need-an-au-where-stiles-is-dereks-assigned)

 

Stiles had always been destined for law enforcement. Since he was a child, he wanted to solve crimes and help people, like his dad. He was inquisitive and smart and, okay, yes, sometimes easily distracted but, as he often pointed out, that was often an asset when investigating because he could think outside the box.

So, after graduation, he cheerfully wandered over to the FBI with big dreams of saving lives and putting away the bad guys. But before you got anywhere _interesting_ in the FBI, you did grunt work.

The gruntiest of grunt work.

The kind of grunt work that most sane individuals would decide wasn’t worth it after a day.

 _Surveillance_.

When Stiles joined, he was aware that he’d have to spent a couple of months, maybe even a year, just on surveillance, but he was still unpleasantly surprised at just how dull grunt work could be. Especially when your assigned case was – and he was being one hundred percent literal here – the most boring man on Earth.

Derek Hale didn’t do _anything_.

Stiles could say that with confidence because he spent all day, every day staring at Derek from his webcam. Hours upon hours sat in front of a laptop screen, watching someone _else_ sat in front of a laptop screen. Derek didn’t even have any reprobate high school friends on his social media to entertain Stiles, just bland faces doing bland things blandly, that Stiles had to watch.

And to make it even worse, Derek had self-restraint and didn’t spend every second of the day glued to his phone. Stiles spent maybe an hour in total watching Derek from his laptop webcam, another few hours watching Derek from his phone, and the rest watching the inside of Derek’s pocket or his bedroom ceiling (and not in the fun way Stiles usually got to stare at people’s bedroom ceilings).

Right now, for example, he was toggling between Derek’s phone cameras, alternately looking at his desk and an ugly lampshade. It was nearly midday and Stiles had been here since ten. He sighed deeply and hit his head against the desk in an effort to stay awake.

“Would you stop _groaning_ , Stilinski?! Most of us have actually got it worse than you, you know.”

“Shut up, Greenberg,” Stiles mumbled automatically but then sighed as his brain kicked in. “That was too far, sorry.”

Greenberg technically had a point, after all.

His assignment had some definite bonuses.

Such as: Derek Hale being an actual god in human form. It wasn’t exactly a hardship to spend hours staring at his face – particularly the little crease between his eyebrows that appeared when he was trying to figure out a problem, or his big frown and puppy eyes when something wasn’t going his way, or the times he got home and changed into his workout clothes while also answering his emails on his laptop so Stiles got to see what a perfect specimen of mankind looked like. (Although Stiles always felt too guilty about the massive infringement of privacy to continue looking and would sullenly stare at his cubicle wall until he was sure Derek was suitably covered.)

Derek was also a genuinely good person. His most visited sites were pinterest, where he had several perfectly curated boards on hearty food recipes and mood boards of beautifully situated mountain cottages, and gofundme, where he used his enormous inheritance to donate to people needing life-changing surgery or paid kittens’ vet bills – that sort of thing. And even though he was a rich, white guy he never even came _close_ to breaking any sort of white collar laws. It was infuriating.

Especially because Stiles couldn’t complain without sounding like an ungrateful shit, especially when Greenberg was at the desk next to him, monitoring a neckbeard peruse 4chan, play Runescape, and do other _things_ that no human should have to witness. Greenberg spent most of his day alternating being looking ill and crying.

But, still, in terms of his dreams of catching criminals and career progression within the FBI, the Derek Hale assignment was a dead end. No amount of good looks and a great personality could keep Stiles from feeling like he’d been shorted.

And that’s when the night visitor dropped by.

\--

The first time he came at 3:03am.

Well, Stiles didn’t know if it was the _first_ time because of Derek’s habit of shutting down his laptop and his phone before he slept. That night, however, Derek had fallen asleep on his couch watching the news, leaving his laptop open on the floor to record away.

When Stiles came in the next morning, he reviewed the night’s footage over his cup of coffee, as per usual, playing it back at ten times speed and staring unfocusedly at it as he waited for the caffeine to kick in. He nearly missed it, dismissing the blur as a trick of the light, but when he rewound it to double-check, he realized the blur at 3:03am was a man, silhouetted by the moonlight as he crept by the window while Derek slept.

His heart stopped and he nearly dropped his coffee as he scrambled into an upright position in his chair, pausing the footage.  

“Oh _shit_ ,” Stiles said. Finally, _something_ was happening.

His first thought was that it was just Derek getting up for a drink or moving back to his bed. But when Stiles fast-forwarded, Derek clearly got up off the sofa two hours later just as the sky was beginning to lighten – so unless he decided at three o’clock in the morning to clamber over the backrest, have a little creep around his own apartment with the lights off, and then climb back onto the couch the same way, the figure wasn’t Derek.

Stiles tapped into the live feed of Derek’s webcam, watching him putter around the kitchen making eggs and occasionally swinging back to his laptop to send a message to his friend, perfectly unaware that anything sinister may have occurred.

He rewound the footage once more and watched the silhouette sneak past the window again.

Yep. Definitely _not_ Derek.

He leaned back in his chair and sucked his teeth as he considered what to do.

Technically, there was very little he _could_ do other than file a report of unusual activity around Derek Hale. The point of surveillance was to catch your assignment planning illegal things and stop them before they could carry out their plans, not to act as benevolent guardian angels to the American populous.

Stiles had several issues with this style of surveillance, most of them coming down to the massive waste of resources: the average civilian was incredibly boring and not worth paying someone a salary to watch all day. Stiles got into the job to help people, and this would definitely help Derek.

Well, it _might_ help Derek.

Maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for this guy being in Derek’s apartment. If there was, Derek probably wouldn’t appreciate the FBI getting involved in his booty calls. It might put Derek off booty calls forever, and then Stiles would have _that_ on his conscious too (because, for such an attractive man, Derek didn’t get laid enough).

Also, trying to do something about the mysterious intruder would be a hell of a lot of paperwork and Stiles _hated_ paperwork.

With the thought of several binders’ worth of paperwork hovering at the forefront of his mind, Stiles closed the recording and went back to his usual monitoring. He kept an eye out, though.

\--

So the next time it happened a few weeks later, Stiles was prepared.

Derek had left his laptop open while he went to work. Stiles usually took this time to have a nap at his desk, or chat with Scott, or wiggle his way into a meeting about actual cases, but this time he grabbed a large flask of coffee and took a large swig along with an Adderall. He was going to stay awake for this. Just in case.

Sure enough, a few hours after Derek left, as the clock inched towards lunch time, the door to Derek’s bedroom opened and a pair of legs clad in cargo pants (distinctly different to Derek’s uniform of slacks, basketball shorts, or sweatpants) snuck in.

Stiles slammed the record button, eager to gather all the data he could on this guy, and then pondered his next move.

It was obvious he room wasn’t supposed to be in Derek’s room: even a civilian would be able to tell that by the way he creeped and skulked, careful not to leave anything out of place. The problem was that Derek had left his laptop screen open but tilted downwards, so all Stiles could see was the intruder’s waist and legs.

It also wasn’t interesting enough to go to Lydia with. People got robbed all the time – that was a job for the police, not the FBI.

But still. This guy was in _Derek’s_ bedroom, digging through Derek’s bedside table while Derek was at work. He definitely wasn’t a booty call or a friend who had stayed over. Stiles didn’t know what this dude’s motive was, but as far as he could tell, it could only be malicious for Derek.

Stiles grimaced, drumming his fingers on his desk. The intruder had given up searching under the bed and had walked out of frame to where Stiles knew Derek’s chest of drawers was.  Stiles made up his mind, subtly sweeping his office for Lydia before pulling his personal cell from his pocket and sending a string of texts.

 

**To: Derek Hale**

_Hi Derek, there’s some dude creeping around your room._

_This is your FBI dude btw_

_I’m watching him from ur webcam_

_I’m breaking a million protocols rn but thought you should know_

 

He clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into his palms as he stared at the black monitor next to it that showed Derek’s phone screen.

After what felt like centuries (but was, in reality, only a couple of minutes) Derek’s face appeared on the monitor when he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Stiles watched him read his texts with a frown that had carved itself so deep into his forehead by the time he finished the last one that Stiles was worried it would never leave.

He watched Derek type the message and was already mentally crafting his reply when his phone _ping_ ed with a text alert.

**To: Unknown Number**

_??????????????????_

**To: Derek Hale**

_Yh sorry I know it’s weird but we can deal with that later_

_you should really call the cops about this guy_

 

**To: Unknown Number**

_I don’t understand what you’re talking about?_

_Is this a prank?_

 

Stiles sighed deeply. If he’d been assigned a proper millennial they’d understand about surveillance and FBI monitoring. Then again, if he had a millennial, he would be staring at black screen all day (because they’d have the sense to tape over their webcam) and never would have known about the intruder.

He cracked his knuckles and transferred the video file of the unknown stranger from his laptop to his phone and sent it to Derek.

 

**To: Derek Hale**

_[Video attachment]_

_This is the last ten minutes-ish_

_I don’t know who it is, leave your laptop more open next time so I get more than legs_

_I think he’s looking for something tho?_

 

Derek didn’t reply and Stiles was too antsy to stay in his seat, so he got up to make lunch.

Ten minutes later, he had the pleasure of watching a group of New York’s finest storm into Derek’s apartment and tackle the guy to the ground while Stiles ate his instant ramen from a mug.

“Hey, look at that. Dinner and a show,” he said to Greenberg, sucking up a noodle that was hanging from his mouth, gesturing to his screen with a fork.

Greenberg gave him the finger.

\--

Stiles read the police report the next day.

It turned out to be Peter Hale. Derek’s – formerly comatose, now awake and insane – uncle. He had been after some kind of information about Derek’s elusive older sister, Laura, that police suspected was going to be used in a plot to kill her and Derek in order to get his hands on their fortune, like some kind of villain from a children’s story. Thanks to Derek’s call, he was now being held in custody until the trial, no bail.

Stiles devoured the details that the police had managed to drag out of Peter, sitting on the edge of his chair as he scrolled through all the files he could get his hands on. He knew about the fire, of course, he’d learned all about it when Derek had first been assigned to him, but it was fascinating to read how that grief and pressure had driven Peter Hale mad and place the blame on Laura and her brother. Stiles wished he could have sat in on the police interview: there were so many questions he still had for the guy.

Unfortunately, his breaks of protocol hadn’t gone down well with his boss. Lydia Martin had hauled him into her office the second he stepped through the door with a glare cold enough to freeze water and Stiles got thoroughly chewed out about the importance of keeping the FBI out of the everyday lives of normal civilians and the need to keep the surveillance operation a _secret_.

Lydia’s soft spot for him that meant he got away with a warning instead of an immediate dismissal, but he still slunk to his desk with his tail between his legs and spent the day mutely watching Derek and taking dutiful notes like a fresh-faced, eager recruit.

Thankfully, Derek was having an interesting day to distract him from his job woes.

He was spending it with his sister out in upstate New York, which Stiles had to guess from his GPS location but was then confirmed when Derek pulled his phone out of his pocket to show her the Stiles’ texts.

He was frowning, as always.

It was the first time Stiles ‘met’ Laura Hale. He knew of her existence from the occasional text conversations Derek had with her and his own research into the Hale family when he was bored at work, but the two had never met in the whole six months of Stiles watching Derek.

There was a definite awkwardness that lingered between them as they talked over what happened, why the FBI had decided to text Derek rather than deal with the intruder themselves, and what they were going to do about Peter. They were careful not to speak over one another or touch at all, and Derek spent more time staring at his phone or the table than his sister. It looked more like the kind of relationship one would have with a respected colleague, rather than a family member.

(Stiles could kind of see why, though: Laura Hale was terrifying. He half-expected to see fangs every time she opened her mouth to snarl a new theory.)

The insights about Derek and the Hales that Stiles gained from eavesdropping on their conversation was worth the verbal dressing down he’d received from Lydia earlier, though.

Stiles already knew about the fire, of course. When he’d first been assigned to monitor Derek, he’d devoured every scrap of information he could get hands on: from the psychopath ex-girlfriend who was serving thirty years in jail, to Derek’s decade of therapy sessions for depression and post-traumatic stress, to the remodeling of his house out in California that had inspired Derek to become an architect. With such an interesting backstory, Stiles had initially thought he’d hit the jackpot on first-time assignments until he realized how normal Derek was.

Now he got to hear all the juicy details that only family knew: like the fact Peter had had his eyes on their enormous inheritances before the fire had even happened. They talked about the time he’d drunkenly lashed out at Laura and screamed that he’d get the money one way or another. It had never been reported because their parents hadn’t wanted to drag their names down by airing the family’s arguments, apparently, and anyway, no one had taken Peter seriously at the time.

Stiles made notes on all of this in Derek’s case file – just in case.

Derek left Laura’s before dinner time. His phone was in his pocket so Stiles couldn’t see anything, but he was tapped into the microphone.

“It was really nice to see you, Derek,” Laura said, her voice muffled by denim.

“Yeah, it was. I missed you.”

“Same. Will you come see me again?”

“Of course. And you need to stop by when you’re in the city.”

“I will, I promise… I love you.”

“Love you too, Laura.”

There was the sound of rustling material and the camera got abruptly darker, as if it were in the middle of a hug and being pressed firmly into Derek’s thigh. Stiles thought he heard a little sniff from one of the Hales as they broke apart and said their goodbyes.

It was a long shift, but that exchange meant Stiles left with a spring in his step and a feeling that he’d done some good work: he’d got a bad guy in jail and reunited two estranged but lonely siblings. He rewarded himself with takeout and a _The Fast and The Furious_ marathon.

Halfway through _2 Fast 2 Furious_ , his attention waning and only crumbs and an empty pot of garlic and herb dip left in the pizza box, his phone vibrated on the coffee table. He picked it up, expecting a text from Scott, and nearly dropped his phone in the leftover grease.

 

**To: Unknown Number**

_So… ‘my FBI dude’?_

_I have some questions._

 

Thinking about the situation rationally, he knew it was perfectly reasonable that Derek would want to get in contact with the mysterious guy who had cameras in his house. Stiles definitely would have a couple of burning questions if he were in Derek’s shoes. Somehow, though, he had convinced himself that Derek wouldn’t bother and they would go back to their routines as if nothing had happened.

His hands were shaking with adrenaline as he replied.

 

**To: Derek Hale**

_Understandable_

_I might not be able to answer most of them because I could get fired_

_Classified information and all that_

_Although having any sort of contact with you will me fired if my boss finds out_

_So_

_Shoot_

**To: Unknown Number**

_Um. Alright._

_I don’t even know where to start, actually._

_I guess a good first base is why are you watching me??_

**To: Derek Hale**

_We watch everyone_

_Just in case_

**To: Unknown Number**

_“We”?_

_And “everyone”?_

**To: Derek Hale**

_We = The FBI, I told you that already_

_And most Americans_

_We have some limitations due to manpower, obviously_

****

**To: Unknown Number**

_How are you doing it?_

_Are you watching me right now?_

**To: Derek Hale**

_Through your webcams mostly_

_I can tap into your microphones if I need to but that’s a lot of effort_

_I can check the GPS on your phone_

_And no, I’m not at work now so I can’t do any of this. I’m watching 2 Fast 2 Furious_

**To: Unknown Number**

_Jesus._

_How long has this been going on??_

**To: Derek Hale**

_Me personally, just over six months_

_Think there was a guy before me but he got promoted to someone more interesting_

_No offense_

 

**To: Unknown Number**

_I’m boring?_

**To: Derek Hale**

_You’re very law abiding_

_That’s boring to the FBI_

_It’s a good thing, don’t worry_

**To: Unknown Number**

_Then why are you watching me???_

**To: Derek Hale**

_Idk man, I don’t make the calls I just get given the assignments_

**To: Unknown Number**

_That’s not an excuse. This is all incredibly creepy._

**To: Derek Hale**

_Yeah, I know, it’s definitely in a gray area_

_But I joined the FBI to help people. Like letting you know about your uncle but on a larger scale_

_So hopefully soon I’ll get promoted and be able to do something more useful_

_I promise I try to keep the gross invasions of privacy to a minimum, I strategically go get coffee refills_

**To: Unknown Number**

_Can’t you just stop watching me?_

**To: Derek Hale**

_No, that’s not my call_

_You could complain to my bosses and get me fired_

_But they’d replace me with someone else and you’d get put on an intense watchlist for knowing about us_

_That sounds like a threat, it’s not meant to be_

_That’s just what would actually happen_

**To: Unknown Number**

_This is too much. I’m going to bed._

 

**To: Derek Hale**

_Dude, please don’t complain to my bosses_

_I really don’t want to lose this job_

 

Derek didn’t reply though, leaving Stiles to stew in his anxiety for the whole night as he imagined going to work the next morning to find that Lydia had already packed up his desk for him and getting escorted out of the building by security.

None of that happened, though. The next day when Stiles went into work, his palms sweaty and his heartrate elevated, but no one gave him a second glance – except for Scott who bounded over to his desk and filled Stiles in on how well his date with Allison had gone the night before. Stiles nodded along pleasantly, waiting for the ball to drop but Lydia just walked by and told Scott to quit gossiping and get back to work, and that was that.

Derek had apparently decided not to make a fuss. After Scott left and Stiles logged onto the system, he noticed Derek had changed Stiles’ contact info.

**To: Derek Hale**

_How dare you_

_I’m NOT a stalker_

**To: My Stalker**

_You had to look at my contacts from probably several hundred miles away to know your name on my phone. That basically proves you’re a stalker._

**To: Derek Hale**

_I’ll have you know that what I do is simply a serious invasion of privacy_

_Not stalking_

 

Stiles watched with amusement as Derek started googling the legal definition of stalking and how restraining orders worked.

 

**To: Derek Hale**

_Dude_

_You can’t get a restraining order against the entire FBI_

**To: My Stalker**

_Maybe I’ll just get one against you then._

**To: Derek Hale**

_Hey, you’re lucky to have me_

_I’m one of the good ones_

_I risked my job to let you know about creepy Uncle Hale_

_Speaking of, I’ll lose my job completely if they catch me texting you so I’m putting my phone away_

_Enjoy your bagel_

Stiles watched Derek read his text with a mouthful of the cream cheese bagel he’d just ordered. His eyes were comically wide as he lowered the bagel from his mouth and glanced around at the interior of the shop, presumably looking for cameras, before remembering and glaring at his front-facing camera before slipping his cell into his pocket.

\--

From then on, the grunt work became a little more fun because Stiles could actually text Derek about the little things Stiles noticed in his day. Derek didn’t always reply – Stiles got the feeling he still found the whole FBI monitoring situation unbelievably weird but he’d decided to roll with it – but he didn’t block Stiles’ number, so Stiles took it as an overall win.

**To: Derek Hale**

_The subway’s crazy delayed today, you might want to leave early or get an Uber_

\--

**To: Derek Hale**

_Dude, it’s pouring outside_

_Put a coat on_

\--

**To: Derek Hale**

_Stop making such glorious food when all I have to eat is a crappy sandwich_

_Did those pancakes taste as good as they looked?_

**To: My Stalker**

_Better._

**To: Derek Hale**

_I swear I was drooling in the middle of the office_

_I had to stop at IHOP on the way home because I’ve been having a craving all day_

The next day, Derek spent around twenty minutes photographing a picture of every dish from his three course lunch out at an expensive sushi bar from every angle imaginable.

Stiles responded with a photo of his leftover meatloaf that looked like roadkill in a Tupperware along with his middle finger.

\--

**To: Derek Hale**

_The Pawnee Sun_

 

Derek’s mouse paused over question thirteen on the Parks and Recreation Buzzfeed trivia quiz he was in the middle of taking. Stiles waited for the incoming text with his cell hidden under his desk.

 

**To: My Stalker**

_This is cheating._

_Are you sure? I think it’s the Herald._

**To: Derek Hale**

_Derek, my friend, there are two areas you should never doubt my knowledge of_

_Parks and Recreation_

_And the details of your daily life_

Derek rolled his eyes at his webcam and gave him the finger when he chose _The Pawnee Herald_ and got it wrong. He finished the quiz with twelve out of fourteen.

 

**To: Derek Hale**

_I got 14 ;)_

 

**To: My Stalker**

_You’re a nerd._

\--

**To: Derek Hale**

_Listen, I had a late night involving a stupid number of shots_

_But my supervisor’s watching so I have to put effort into monitoring you and I can’t just mute your crappy music_

_PLEASE stop listening to this weird shit on repeat or my head’s going to explode_

**To: Derek Hale**

_Don’t turn it up!!!_

**To: Derek Hale**

_Have you ever considered a career with the CIA?_

_This kind of torture is probably right up their alley_

 

**To: Derek Hale**

_If I get fired, it’ll be your fault for making me put my fist through the computer_

\--

It wasn’t just the ability to talk to Derek that made Stiles’ job more bearable, it was that Derek’s life had suddenly become a lot more interesting with the investigation into his uncle’s shady dealings. It turned out that he’d made all sorts of deals with dodgy people throughout the years of him being in a supposed coma. Alongside his initial charge of breaking and entering, the police had uncovered all manners of nefarious crimes like fraud, assault, and conspiracy to commit murder.

Obviously, Stiles was sympathetic to how difficult this all was for Derek and Laura, to have their last living family member turn out to be an insane psychopath, but he was also living vicariously through the investigation as he sat in his dark office in front of a computer screen.

**To: Derek Hale**

_I like Officer Deaton_

_Seems like a good guy_

 

**To: My Stalker**

_Yeah, he is._

_He does proper policing that doesn’t involve spying on innocent civillians._

**To: Derek Hale**

_You wound me :(_

(In his downtime at home, Stiles began to browse the local police departments for job vacancies. He bookmarked a couple, just for a rainy day.)

\--

After a month or so of these conversations became increasingly frequent, to the point where they were texting on-and-off all day. It meant Stiles had to get as good at texting under his desk as he had been in high school, but it was worth it because his work days flashed by. It wasn’t the Stiles show any more either, as Derek replied to basically every single text and had even begun to initiate conversations as well.

**To: My Stalker**

_Are you at work?_

****

**To: Derek Hale**

_Of course. When am I not?_

_What’s up?_

**To: My Stalker**

_I have that presentation today. Which should I wear?_

Stiles snorted. Derek was stood in front of his laptop, gesturing to his own chest – which was clad in a navy blue shirt –while holding a white button-up on the hanger next to it. He raised an eyebrow at his webcam and jiggled the white shirt up and down.

 

**To: Derek Hale**

_I think the blue you’re wearing is nice_

_Good luck!_

**To: My Stalker**

_Thanks :)_

**\--**

**To: My Stalker**

_Were you watching me at the gym earlier today?_

**To: Derek Hale**

_Yes_

 

The hour that Derek spent at the gym every day was usually incredibly boring to Stiles because he would leave his phone in his locker and Stiles would have nothing to do. The day before, Derek had not only brought his phone into the gym but he’d propped it up against walls and pillars and left it unlocked so Stiles could watch him work out through the webcam.

It had been, undoubtedly, the best hour of Stiles’ life to date and it got even better knowing that Derek had _wanted_ Stiles to spend the whole time drooling over him as he lifted weights.

**To: My Stalker**

_Great._

_I needed you to check my deadlift form._

 

Stiles had got into the FBI, which required a basic level of physical fitness which Stiles had scraped by. So, in theory, Stiles _knew_ what a deadlift was, but he wouldn’t feel confident correcting someone on their form – especially when he had spent all of Derek’s sets ogling his biceps.

**To: Derek Hale**

_Oh_

_I think it was fine?_

_I was a bit distracted_

**To: My Stalker**

_Come on, what’s the point of stalking me if you’re not going to help me out? :P_

_I’m going again tomorrow at 5pm._

_Pay attention this time?_

Stiles had been planning to get off work early that day and go over to Scott’s for a Mario Kart grand prix and dinner, but he would happily stay at work until three o’clock in the morning if it meant he got to watch Derek’s workout. And seeing as he had _permission_ to do so this time meant he’d be able to ogle away without feeling like he was breaking several boundaries.

**To: Scott**

_Going to have to postpone Xbox & chill tomorrow, Lydia’s asked me stay later tomorrow, sorry!_

_I’ll make it up to you though_

**To: Derek Hale**

_Sure thing man, I’ll be there_

 

Stiles closed the police application form he had been contemplating and started googling correct deadlift forms instead.

\--

One morning Derek waved at his webcam camera before he shut his laptop to go to work and Stiles’ heart just about burst because of how cute it was. He texted Derek immediately telling him to have a nice day and got a derpy smiley face in response.

If Stiles had to pinpoint the day he realized he’d fallen in love with Derek Hale, he’d probably choose that one.

**\--**

Nearly four months into their friendship, Derek texted Stiles with a single word opener that immediately made Stiles nervous.

 

**To: My Stalker**

_Hey._

****

**To: Derek Hale**

_Hi :)_

**To: My Stalker**

_Can I ask you something?_

**To: Derek Hale**

_Of course?_

**To: My Stalker**

_Can you tell me your name?_

 

Stiles was out having drinks with Scott and Allison, and he spent so long frowning at his phone that they managed to detach themselves from one another and actually notice he mentally absent.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked, leaning over Stiles’ shoulder to get a look.

“Derek wants to know my name.”

He ignored the uneasy glance Scott and Allison shared.

Neither of who knew what to make of Stiles’ strange relationship with Derek. He’d told them under duress when Allison had threatened to demonstrate her latest combat training on him if he didn’t tell them about his secret boyfriend.

Allison hadn’t approved because of all the violations of policy and the potential of ruining the FBI’s operation by sexually harassing an innocent civilian and bringing several thousand lawsuits down on their heads. Scott didn’t approve because his assignment was Isaac Lahey, one of Derek’s closest – and only – friends, (which on its own was awesome and proof that Scott and Stiles were platonic soulmates who were destined to be paired together for the rest of their lives) but it meant Scott had actually ‘met’ Derek before – and he didn’t think much of him.

But, while neither of them _liked_ Stiles talking to Derek, they were good enough friends to keep it a secret from Lydia, which was the most important thing.

“Are you going to tell him?” Scott asked.

Stiles bit the side of his finger as he thought about it. “Not sure,” he said and sent Derek a text.

 

**To: Derek Hale**

_Why?_

**To: My Stalker**

_It feels weird not knowing it when we talk every day._

Allison surprised him by saying, “He has a point.”

“You think?”

She shrugged. “You’ve been talking for what? Four months now? And you’ve been watching him for close to a year? I’d feel weird if I was talking to a guy who knew literally everything about me and I didn’t even know his name.”

Stiles finally managed to chew off the hanging nail on the side of his thumb.

“Yeah.”

 

**To: Derek Hale**

_True._

_It’s Stiles._

Stiles wished he was at work just then, so he could see Derek’s face and know what kind of reaction it got.

 

**To: My Stalker**

_Nice to meet you, Stiles :)_

He had to make do with that, and hope the emoji was indicative of how what Derek was really doing, on the other side of the country in his apartment.

**\--**

On the morning of Peter Hale’s trial, Stiles texted Derek on his way to work.

**To: Derek Hale**

_Good luck_

_Remember I’m here for you_

_Just type SOS somewhere if you need the FBI to call the courthouse and pretend there’s a bomb threat to give you a chance to breathe_

 

Stiles couldn’t actually do anything of the sort, but it was worth it for the small smile it brought to Derek’s face in the taxi on his way to the courthouse.

**To: Stiles**

_Thanks._

 

Peter got sentenced to ten years in prison, along with restraining orders from Laura and Derek in case he got out early on good behavior and tried to contact them. Laura and Derek went out for a couple of drinks to celebrate, and ended up crying in each other’s arms in Derek’s apartment as they reminisced about their parents and their sister.

Stiles tried not to sob at his desk at work, and sent Derek a few comforting texts as soon as he was on his way home.

**To: Derek Hale**

_I tried to give you and Laura as much privacy as I could but I heard a little_

_Your parents sounded like wonderful people, I’m sorry you lost them_

_Remember to take a glass of water to bed with you_

 

Stiles woke up the next morning to a message from Derek that was a string of nonsense but it ended in three heart emojis.

He took a screenshot of it.

**\--**

It obviously couldn’t last because when did Stiles’ crushes _ever_ go well?

Derek had been out all afternoon without checking his phone once. Stiles wouldn’t say he was _panicking_ because sometimes people drop their phones down the side of the couch and can’t find them, or let their battery die, or left it in an Uber… The point was, there were any number of reasonable possibilities about why Derek hadn’t checked it since lunch.

Still, there was a definite undercurrent of worry as Stiles checked his GPS location.

It turned out that Derek was in a bar.

That was very unlike Derek – he was more of a movie marathon and pizza kind of guy, especially when it was barely four in the afternoon. Still, maybe it was a friend’s birthday.

Seeing as Derek only had one friend, it was pretty quick to rule that out.

“Hey Scott,” he said, popping his head over the top of his cubicle to peer down at his best friend, “Is it Isaac’s birthday?”

Scott shook his head. “No, not ‘til August. Why?”

“Hmm… Not important, just trying to figure something out,” Stiles said, dropping back down to inspect the map where the little blue dot of Derek’s phone continued to flash at the bar.

He glared at it for the next hour, staying well past his usual quitting time, until Derek pulled his phone out. He seemed to be completely sober, but he was actually _smiling_ which Stiles had only seen on a few occasions. He was talking to someone off to the side as he ordered an Uber back to his home.

As Stiles watched the Uber travel back to Derek’s apartment, he tried to think of a way to let Derek know he was glad he was alright without it coming across as creepy and controlling. He was still typing and erasing the messages when Derek got home.

Then, Derek opened his laptop and Stiles’ dreams about making him pinterest-worthy overnight oats, adopting an old dog from a shelter together, and having spring wedding turned to dust in a heartbeat.

Beside him, sat on the ratty couch that Stiles had had _way_ too many inappropriate fantasies about, was the most beautiful bombshell of a girl that he’d ever seen. She was the kind of pinup model that all men with inclination towards women dreamed of, wearing a leather jacket, tight red tank top that matched her scarlet lipstick, curves in all the right places… As Stiles’ watched in complete dismay, she shrugged off the jacket and unlaced her knee-high boots, reclining on Derek’s couch as if she owned the place.

She pulled the laptop towards her and started flicking through Derek’s Netflix without any of the self-consciousness that Stiles experienced any time he was forced to pick a film for a stranger.

Stiles dropped his cell onto his desk and leaned over in his chair, feeling his heart shatter into a million pieces.

“Here you go,” Derek said, sitting next to her and handing her a glass of water. “Sure you don’t want anything else?”

“Definitely, that last Long Island really finished me off.”

“What are we watching?”

“Breaking Bad, obviously. I can’t believe you’ve never seen it!”

“I have a life!”

“You _can’t_ have a life if you haven’t seen Breaking Bad,” the woman said definitively, leaning forward to put the laptop on the coffee table. “Buckle up, we’re going to do all of season one tonight. We don’t sleep.”

Derek groaned but didn’t actually protest and Stiles had nothing left in his chest to break, but the place where his had been ached terribly. Derek was more comfortable with this woman than with anyone else in his life. Sure, there weren’t actually many people in Derek’s life but that wasn’t the point!

Because he was a masochist, Stiles watched Derek watch the first episode of Breaking Bad.

And then the second, and then the third.

It was ridiculously early in the morning and Stiles’ wouldn’t be getting overtime for it but he couldn’t bring himself to stop watching Derek and the woman (Erica, Derek said at one point) snark at each other and order takeout and have a really good time together as Stiles sunk lower and lower into his chair until his chin was resting on his chest and tears were running down his cheeks.

In the fourth episode, when Derek was starting to nod off, Stiles called it a night.

He drove home with his face wet from the tears he didn’t have the energy to wipe away, all the while _hating_ himself for feeling so miserable over a guy who’d never met him and also hating Derek a little bit, even though none of it was Derek’s fault.

Obviously Derek wasn’t _cheating_ on him, because he didn’t know the first thing about Stiles except that he loved Parks and Recreation and didn’t know the difference between a military barbell press and a lateral raise so was entirely useless as a gym buddy.

Stiles, on the other hand, knew so much about Derek that he’d fallen completely, head over heels in love with the guy. That imbalance of information was probably the reason the relationship would never have worked, even if Stiles decided to throw in the towel and go meet Derek. You couldn’t have a healthy relationship when one half of the couple was paid to monitor the other’s every move.

It was creepy and stalkery and _awful_.

He slammed his jeep’s door closed with such force that it actually rocked on its wheels and didn’t even apologize to it. He spent his evening alone on the couch, eating a microwaveable ready meal and browsing police vacancies.

The next day he changed his phone number and handed Lydia his resignation.

\--

One Year Later

 

Stiles was running late to Scott and Allison’s 4th of July party which, as the alcohol provider, wasn’t a good thing. He could feel his cell vibrate every two seconds in his pocket as Scott relentlessly asked him for updates on his whereabouts.

As a result, he was sprinting around the liquor store, his cart already filled with several boxes of wine as he hunted for tequila with the ferocity of a madman that kept the other shoppers at bay. He wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on in front of him as he scanned the shelves.

That’s how he ended up running the cart straight into a guy , knocking him into a tower of beer crates that wobbled precariously but, mercifully, stayed standing. Stiles’ police salary didn’t pay enough for him to afford that many bottles of broken beer.

He _also_ didn’t have enough money to pay for whatever incoming lawsuit the man on the ground was about to throw at him.

“Oh fuck! I’m _so_ sorry, man, are you alright?” he blabbered as he rounded the cart to help the guy onto his feet.

The guy batted away Stiles’ proffered hand and slowly got up from the floor on his own, massaging his hip where Stiles had hit him with the shopping cart and a heavy frown on his face.

…A very _familiar_ frown.

“What the hell was that?” Derek Hale demanded.

Stiles was going to throw up.

“Holy shit,” he whispered as he stared into those eyes that he’d spent a whole year looking at from the other side of a screen.

“Hello?” Derek said, waving his hand in front of Stiles’ face. His very _real_ hand. Stiles could reach out and grab that hand if he wanted to. It would probably earn him a restraining order, but he could _touch_ it. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

He was looking at Stiles as if he was possessed.

“ _Derek_?” Stiles finally whimpered.

From down the aisle, a feminine voice echoed Stiles’ question.

“Derek? I got some cheap rose for me and Isaac… Who’s this?”

It was Erica. Of course, it was Erica. Her blonde curls bounced around her shoulders as she sauntered down the aisle with the gait of a runway model and two bottles in her hands, coming to stop by Derek’s shoulder and putting the wine in his basket.

She inspected Stiles the way someone would look at a bug that had fallen on its back, pitying yet simultaneously a little grossed out

Stiles’ heart, which had just begun to fill with hope, deflated like a balloon.

“Um,” Stiles said. “Long story.”

“Is it now?” Erica asked, glancing between Derek and Stiles with a sly look that suggested she thought Stiles was insinuating something dirty while Derek examined Stiles with confusion.

Stiles was so tempted to leave the conversation there and run away except… Derek was actually in front of him, for the first (and maybe _only_ ) time. The past year had only proved that Stiles was too much of a chicken to go knock on Derek’s door to say hello, after all. He spent the entire twelve months trying and failing miserably to forget him.

And maybe, just _maybe_ , Derek would want the opportunity to actually meet his stalker.

“How is it a long story?” Derek prompted when Stiles didn’t say anything.

He took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m Stiles.” He held out his hand. “Nice to actually meet you, Derek.”

There was long moment’s silence, which gave Stiles just enough time to regret ever being born, and then lots of things happened at once.

“Oh my God,” Erica said, her mouth literally dropping open which Stiles barely had time to see because Derek was dropping his shopping basket and stepping right up into his personal space; he completely ignored Stiles’ outstretched hand to envelope Stiles in a tight embrace.

“Um,” Stiles squeaked as all that hope from earlier whacked him around the face once more and every fantasy of living happily ever after with Derek Hale immediately planted their roots deep his brain.

“ _Fuck,_ is it really you?” Derek asked, holding Stiles at arm’s length, his hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

“Uh huh, it’s really me.”

Derek pulled him back into the crushing hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he muttered into Stiles’ hair.

He was so taken aback by the hug that he stood there with his arms hanging by his sides like limp noodles while his brain tried to connect the dots.

“Yeah? I’m good?”

“I thought you’d been arrested for talking to me or something!” Derek was saying as Stiles struggled for breath in his iron hold.

“Nope,” he wheezed. “I’m still a law-abiding citizen, dude, I just quit that job.”

Derek finally released him so Stiles could breathe, but he immediately missed the warmth of Derek’s arms around him. Derek, whose face was creased into a strange mix of happiness and… anger?

“Why didn’t you reply to any of my messages?!”

“I changed my number…” Stiles confessed weakly.

“What the _shit_ , Stiles, that’s not alright! I spent _months_ thinking you were in prison or _worse_ and you didn’t think to _call me_? Or just a text to say ‘hey Derek, I’m not fucking _dead_ ’?”

Derek seemed legitimately upset by this, to Stiles’ utmost confusion. The fact that Erica standing at the sidelines, watching her boyfriend maul an unsuspecting guy in the supermarket without looking remotely bothered, made the situation even stranger.

“I’m texting the others,” Erica said, pulling out her phone. “They’re never going to believe this.”

Stiles frowned her for a second, giving him the first inkling that he may have massively misunderstood something, but his attention was immediately recaptured by Derek. “I’m sorry, it was an impulsive thing – I did it all in, like, a single day, and then I moved and I didn’t remember your number so I couldn’t-”

“Bullshit,” Derek interrupted. “You knew where I lived! You could have come over and told me you were okay! Or just slid a note under the door if you didn’t want to see me.”

“I didn’t realize you’d be worried,” Stiles admitted.

“Just. _Why_ did you quit and change your number and _tell_ me?” Derek demanded, not letting Stiles sidestep his way around the issue. “We were friends, Stiles! I thought we had something…” he trailed off and, to Stiles’ perverse delight, his cheeks went pink. “So… Why?”

Stiles was pretty sure his face was the exact same shade as a tomato as he muttered out an explanation. “’CuzIthoughtshewasyourgirlfriend.”

Derek blinked at him. “What?”

“Because,” Stiles blurted out loudly, “I thought you two were going out and I didn’t want to have to watch that all day!”

“’You two’?” Derek repeated.

Stiles gestured weakly between the two in front of him. “Yeah. You two.”

“Oh, this is _too_ good,” Erica said, typing away furiously on her phone while Derek continued to stare at Stiles, nonplussed.

“You thought… Me and _Erica_ were going out?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said pathetically, looking between the two of them. Derek stepped towards him like he wanted to shake Stiles by the shoulders while Erica was trying to contain her laughter (and doing a terrible job). “I take it… you’re not?”

Derek answered that by pulling Stiles close again, but this time hooked a finger under Stiles chin to tilt his face up and kissed him soundly, right in the middle of the aisle like they were in some kind of cheesy romantic comedy.

It was a hell of a first kiss. The kind of thing Stiles would be telling his children about every year on his and Derek’s anniversary.

He looped his arms around Derek’s neck and pressed his body into Derek’s as he reveled in the softness of Derek’s lips against his. Derek’s hands were on Stiles’ hips, his thumbs slipping up under the hem of his shirt and rubbing small circles on Stiles’ skin that left trails of goosebumps.

“This is very cute and all, but I think I’ve seen all I need to so I’m going to go on to Isaac’s, alright Derek?” Erica said from somewhere unimportant because all Stiles cared about right now was Derek, and Derek’s lips, and Derek’s body.

Derek must have felt the same way because he didn’t stop kissing Stiles to say anything – he just hummed in agreement and waved her away.

“You were literally paid to know _everything_ about me, and you thought I was going out with _Erica_?” Derek asked when they stopped kissing, but he kept his forehead pressed against Stiles’ and his hands on his hips.

“Look, it wasn’t my finest moment.”

“I don’t understand – you must have seen my porn history in all that time, and you didn’t think to connect the dots that I might _not_ like girls.”

“It was a rough day.”

“It’s a good thing you left: clearly you weren’t cut out for that kind of investigative work.”

“I quit to become a detective, actually.”

Derek laughed loudly and Stiles grinned dumbly because he’d missed that smile so much.

“What are you doing right now?” Derek asked.

Stiles glanced at his shopping cart full of alcohol. “I was going to a friend’s party… But I’m already late, I suppose another hour wouldn’t make a difference.”

Derek gave him a loaded look. “I have tape over my webcam now.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, lunging back to steal another kiss before dragging him from the store, leaving the cart and the basket abandoned on the ground. “I hope you’ve learned how to mute your microphone too, or we’re going to scar my poor replacement for life.”

 


	2. 5th of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Greenberg can't catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([zwatchtowerz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpark/pseuds/zwatchtowerz) left a comment about how Greenberg was the one who replaced Stiles and he heard _everything_. I got a bit carried away with my reply, and here we are. 
> 
> [Sesshy_kitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sesshy_kitty/pseuds/Sesshy_kitty) suggested the name "Civilian Surveillance Division" which I unashamedly stole because I thought it was perfect.

Greenberg came into work in a good mood on the 5th of July.

This was uncommon for Greenberg, who usually spent his day moping around the coffee machine.  

He’d never really intended to join the Civilian Surveillance Division, or the FBI in general, he just sort of… ended up there. After being pushed from department to department by bosses and colleagues, he snuck into the CSD when they were desperate for agents to do surveillance and managed to remain comfortably under the radar for the next three years. He wouldn’t describe it as his dream job (far from it) but it was stable and predictable and he’d just succeeded in molding the perfect butt dent in the foam desk chair: that kind of hard work couldn’t be abandoned without a second thought. So, leaving seemed more trouble than it was worth.

And, on that particular morning, he was feeling good about life and his job. The three day weekend had been enough time to recharge and he’d had a great 4th of July watching fireworks at a neighbor’s party in which he’d got to spend some one-on-one time with his crush and she’d actually _laughed_ at one of his jokes! And not one of those pitiful laughs Greenberg usually got – a real, genuine laugh! She even sat at a picnic table with Greenberg and gave him the half of a hotdog that she couldn’t finish. He would be treasuring _that_ memory for a while.

He smiled to Agent Martin, who was roving between desks checking up on everyone, and then immediately regretted the eye-contact when she snarled at him to get to work. He ducked his head and booted up his computer.

As he was waiting for everything to load, Agent McCall arrived. He was looking surprisingly awake and perky after telling Greenberg all about his 4th of July plans on Friday (they had involved a lot of alcohol).

“Hi Scott!” Greenberg said. “How was your holiday?”

Scott actually glared at him, which was uncharacteristic for him. Usually Scott was nice to him.

“Terrible,” he grunted.

“Oh no, what happened? I thought you were going to have a rager? How did you mess that up?”

“Stiles was supposed to be bringing the alcohol but he didn’t show up. Hard to have a good party when everyone’s sober.”

“Well, you should have come over to my neighbor’s party, it was so good! Kelly was there – have I told you about Kelly? She’s my next door neighbor and she’s lovely; I had the best afternoon with her-”

“That’s nice, Greenberg.”

Scott put on his headphones and sunk down behind the cubicle wall before Greenberg could tell him about the hot dog or the joke. That was disappointing, but he could tell Scott all about it at lunch, so he followed his lead and put on his own headphones, settling in with a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Even the blank recording of Derek Hale’s webcam view couldn’t dampen his mood today because he could just imagine Kelly’s face on the screen as she laughed with him instead.

Stilinski had quit suddenly a year ago. Greenberg had never found out the exact circumstances behind his departure – the one time he asked Agent Martin she gave him a lecture about gossiping in the workplace and sent him back to his desk more confused than when he left. Although Stiles’ constant back-and-forth with Scott had sometimes amused Greenberg, he’d been ecstatic to learn his deskmate had left because it meant he was one of the first agents to realize there was an open assignment up for grabs.

A week after Stiles hadn’t shown for work after Scott, Greenberg went straight to Agent Martin’s office and requested to be transferred to the Hale assignment.

(‘Requested’ was maybe a soft word – there _might_ have been a few desperate tears rolling down his cheeks as he begged his boss to let him switch. In his defense, he’d had to watch his previous assignment masturbating for an hour straight that morning, and he was feeling a little delicate. He wasn’t sure if it was his compelling argument or a desire to get him out of her office, but either way, Lydia signed off on the trade.)

The first month of watching Derek Hale had been the best of Greenberg’s career.

Derek was a perfectly normal man. His only odd habit was his tendency to talk to himself – he would ask questions or make self-depreciating jokes about his music choice, and when no one answered (because he was home alone and there was no one in the vicinity to hear him) he would stare into the webcam and sigh sadly.

Apart from that, he went to work every day, watched TV, and browsed the internet without a hint of terrorism or treason, leaving Greenberg with an easy job with few responsibilities, and that suited him perfectly. The particular bonus of working with Derek Hale was that the guy didn’t take a _single_ picture of his dick to post on the internet. Not ever. It had been six months and Greenberg hadn’t even seen a brief flash of penis: it was _truly_ fantastic.

However, the unbridled joy of watching normality subsided quickly as Greenberg became acclimatized to Derek’s routine. While it wasn’t as bad as his old assignment, the novelty wore off in a couple of weeks and Greenberg found himself fighting naps. You couldn’t blame him – the guy had routines for everything from ordering coffee to getting ready for bed – Greenberg could list them off the same way he could perfectly replicate the announcements on the metro on his daily commute.

And, even worse, Derek went about those daily routines being _sad_. Not in the sense that he was lame, Derek Hale was legitimately miserable and became progressively unhappier the longer Greenberg watched him. He hadn’t been a cheery guy to begin with but by the end of the first month, the man was constantly in a strop. It was real downer to watch day after day.

Then, worst of all, around four weeks after Greenberg was reassigned, Derek put a little square of duct take across his webcam, and Greenberg’s job turned from kind of dull to mind-numbingly monotonous.

Because of his desperate plea to be transferred to Hale’s case in the first place, Agent Martin rolled her eyes at his complaint at sent him straight back to his desk. Plenty of agents had to deal with it, she pointed out, and Greenberg wasn’t any more special than the rest of them.

So, that was the point Greenberg was at the on the 5th of July, nearly ten months later: bored out of his mind but still more cheerful than he had been the previous year.

Still riding the high of Kelly’s laughter, he settled in to play back the recording from the 4th with more enthusiasm than he’d had for a long time. It wasn’t a long recording. Derek had gone out in the morning after reading the news, and hadn’t come back until mid-afternoon when he opened Spotify on his laptop. As always, the webcam recording was black, but there was an audio file that accompanied the screen capture so Greenberg plugged in his headphones and pressed play.

“You take your hands off that computer,” a man said. His voice was vaguely familiar, Greenberg thought, but the tinny recording from Derek’s laptop made it impossible for him to recognize. “I know how terrible your music taste is – nothing would be worse than having to listen to it right now.”

“You put something on then,” Derek replied, he was so close to the microphone that the volume made Greenberg jump.

He listened to the creak of Derek’s floorboards as his guest presumably walked over to stand next to Derek, followed by a brief, strange pause where neither of the men spoke. Even odder, there was no interaction with Spotify – the cursor stayed where it was and the stranger didn’t search anything or press play – and Greenberg had a strange mental image of Derek and his friend stood shoulder-to-shoulder in silence, staring at the laptop.

When the other man continued his sentence, he didn’t mention the awkward pause they had just endured. His tone was natural and relaxed. “If we’re going to be doing that, I don’t think we need Spotify, you know…”

There was a soft _clack_ followed by that sound leather makes when it rubs against leather as the couch cushions depressed under someone’s weight. Someone sitting down on the couch and putting the laptop on the coffee table, most likely – all sounds Greenberg was familiar with.

“If you say something cheesy about making our own music, I’m walking out,” Derek said and the other man laughed.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Sure…” Derek said. His voice sounded rough.

The leather creaked again, followed by a long silence. Greenberg frowned and strained to hear anything other than the crackle of static and his own breath. As the quiet continued, the microphone grew accustomed and the levels changed – the soft noises in Derek’s apartment becoming amplified, so Greenberg could hear sounds that he was decidedly _less_ familiar with.

The silence was not-so silent all of a sudden.

His own breathing merged with anonymous gasps and sighs, and the unmistakable wet smack of lips against lips. The static was now the rustle of clothes being taken off and dropped to the floor – belt being unbuckled and zips being undone.

And finally, the damning sigh of, “ _Stiles_.”

Greenberg froze at his desk, staring wide-eyed at his monitor. As his brain struggled to catch up with what was happening, the voice – which Greenberg now realized was familiar because he’d spent a whole year sat next to it – said, “Sit up, I want to blow you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I spent too many hours at work thinking about it not to take the first chance I get.”

This couldn’t be happening, it was so unfair for Greenberg to have to endure it.

“Creep,” Derek said but it was fond.

“Hey! _You_ invited _me_ to watch you workout shirtless.”

Derek laughed and there was a moment’s pause before he asked, “Do you want a cushion for your knees?”

Greenberg gripped the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles went white.

“Such a gentleman,” Stiles cooed and then it was quiet.

Greenberg almost counted down the seconds until the microphone levels readjusted themselves, his chest tight with what felt like terror. He would rather be out in the field on his own without backup than having to listen to this.

There was a deep-throated groan and followed by heavy breathing and an then a muted _slurping_ noise which caused Greenberg to violently wrench his headphones off and stare at the black monitor as he blushed deeply.

Nope _,_ nope _, nope._

Greenberg had moved on from having to watch people in their private moments. His previous assignment had been disgusting – but seeing and he’d spent so much time masturbating on chat forums and send unsolicited pictures to other people, Greenberg hadn’t ever felt particularly guilty about it, just repulsed. _This_ , though… This was a private moment that Greenberg shouldn’t be involved with at all.

No, he wasn’t going to listen to it: nothing could change his mind.

“Agent Greenberg!” Agent Martin snapped from behind his head and he cowered.

“Y-yes?”

“Why aren’t your headphones on? You’re not going to learn anything staring at a black screen.”

Okay, maybe _one_ thing could change his mind.

Still blushing, Greenberg did as he was bid, focusing hard on eavesdropping on the conversations going on around him in the office instead of paying any attention to the grunts and groans in his headphones. The second Agent Martin was out of eyesight, he immediately minimized the recording from the 4th and deleted it.

He would just have to hope that Derek hadn’t done anything supremely illegal in the evening.

His mouse hovered over the option to tap into the live feed as he considered his options. He didn’t get to do it for very long, as Agent Martin appeared behind him again – that woman seemed to have a sense for when Greenberg least wanted her around.

“Greenberg, I can’t spend my day micromanaging you, if I see you without your headphones off _one more time_ , you can escort yourself out the building,” she threatened. “Do. Your. Work.”

Mentally swinging between possible mental scarring and being fired, Greenberg meekly double-clicked.

Immediately, he was greeted by a loud expletive and grunting and a distinctive slap of skin against skin. He cringed so hard his head practically retracted into his neck and the blush that had begun to fade came back with a vengeance, lighting his cheeks brilliantly.

It had been more than twelve _hours_ – Greenberg had never wanted to know about Stilinski’s stamina in bed, and now he being forced to gather primary evidence on it. _Why_ did God always do this to him? What had he done in a previous life to deserve such a world of misery?

“I want to die,” Greenberg said into his hands the moment Agent Martin wandered away.

Scott chose that moment to get coffee. He peered over the cubicle wall curiously as he stretched.

“What’s up, Greenberg?” he asked.

“Oh, fuck, _Derek,_ right there,” Stiles groaned and Greenberg shrunk into himself, shaking his head frantically at Scott.

“You feel so good,” Derek grunted.

Scott gave him a look that suggested Greenberg was acting insane. “I’m getting a coffee, you want anything?”

“ _So close_ ,” Stiles whimpered and Greenberg whimpered right along with him, wishing everything would just end.

“ _Oh-kay_ , I’ll take that as a no,” Scott said and wandered off, leaving Greenberg alone to his misery.

Maybe Stilinski had the right idea with quitting: there was no way any promotion could be worth this torture. It had worked out well for him too. Perhaps this was the day Greenberg would throw in the towel and go pursue his life dreams. After all, if Stilinski could quit and end up having sex with someone who looked like Derek Hale, maybe Greenberg could make it as an actor.

There was a long moan and the slapping sound ceased, giving way to heavy breathing and intermittent kisses.

“What’s the time?” Derek asked as the bed springs creaked.

“Close to eleven. Shit! I should text Scott back. Oh god, he’s probably so mad at me,” Stiles jabbered.

 _Scott had Stiles’ number_. There was Greenberg’s chance to easily fix this without having to quit and end up a starving artist in LA.

“Why?” Derek asked.

“Because I was supposed to explain to him why I missed his party yesterday until _someone’s_ magnificent dick distracted me.”

“I’m not going to apologize for that,” Derek said smugly and Stiles laughed.

Scott came back over with coffee at that moment, and Greenberg watched him scan the room for Lydia before pulled his phone out of his pocket and reading whatever Stiles had sent him with a frown.

“Tell him to mute the laptop,” Greenberg begged when he was within earshot.

Scott shot him a confused look. “What?”

“Stiles – I don’t have his number. _Please_ , just tell him to mute the laptop. I _can’t_ listen to it anymore.”

“Huh? Why are you listening to Stiles? I thought you had Derek?”

“I _do_ ,” Greenberg said.

Scott’s eyebrows rose into his messy fringe and his mouth hung open as he understood Greenberg’s predicament. “No _way_ ” – he stretched the syllable out as he began tapping away on his phone enthusiastically – “Oh! That’s why he missed my party!”

“I need to shower,” Stiles said in Greenberg’s ear. “Fancy joining me?”

“ _Scott,_ ” Greenberg interrupted frantically, “You need to tell him to mute it _now_.”

\--

**To: Stiles**

_Can you pick up: A couple of bottles of vodka_

_Chasers of your choice_

_And as much beer as you can physically fit in the jeep_

_I’ll pay you back_

**To: Scott**

_You got it_

_I’m leaving mine now so I’ll be at yours in 40 mins_

**To: Stiles**

_Thanks bro_

 

**To: Stiles**

_Have you left the liquor store yet?_

_Allison wants tequila too_

**To: Stiles**

_You stuck in traffic?_

**To: Stiles**

_Where are you??_

**To: Stiles**

_Bro???_

_U ok?_

**To: Stiles**

_Stiles, I’m worrying._

_If you don’t reply in the next 20 minutes, I’m going to start tracking you._

_And when I say ‘I’m going to track you’, I mean Allison’s going to do it, so we’re going to find you._

**To: Scott**

_I’m fine!! call off the cavalry_

_I’m really sorry bro_

_Wasn’t cool of me to go off the grid, wasn’t thinking_

_But I swear I have a good reason_

**To: Stiles**

_You better._

_I’m glad you’re ok though_

**To: Scott**

_I’m more than ok_

_I’ll call you tomorrow to explain_

_Sorry about the party :(_

_\--_

**To: Scott**

_I forgot to call again, sorry_

_What time do you finish? I’ll come over after_

**To: Stiles**

_Finish at 5_

_YOU MET DEREK?!?!_

_YOU SLEPT WITH DEREK?!?!_

**To: Scott**

_Huh?!_

_How did you find out??_

**To: Stiles**

_Derek’s laptop isn’t muted_

_Poor Greenberg_

_He’s in shock_

_He says if he has to listen to you two in the shower, he’ll cry_

_He didn’t say the crying part but his face suggested it_

**To: Scott**

_Oh my god._

\--

Stiles turned to Derek, who stretched out on the bed next to him in all his naked glory, and had to concentrate in order to keep his mind on the topic at hand rather than let himself dwell on how fantastic Derek looked without clothes on. If he went down that road he knew he’d find himself on top of Derek in a matter of minutes.

“What?” Derek said, raising an eyebrow at Stiles, bringing him back down to Earth.

“You said you muted your laptop.”

Derek opened the other eye and frowned. “I did? At least I thought I did?”

Stiles showed him in phone and the text conversation with Scott, shaking his head.

“Who’s Greenberg?” Derek asked as Stiles collapsed into a heap of laughter.

\--

The next day, Greenberg turned up to work, pale and defeated, to be greeted by a large bouquet of flowers sitting in front of his monitor and a blue helium balloon with _I’m Sorry_ written across it in cursive. It swayed gently under the room’s air-conditioning.

Frowning in confusion – and receiving a couple of interested glances from his coworkers – Greenberg pulled a card out from the center of the arrangement.

_Dear Greenberg,_

_Sorry about that._

_I’ve shown Derek how to properly mute his microphone and it won’t happen again._

_We won’t be needing the laptop today so we’ve set it up to play through all of Friends with subtitles to make it up to you._

_Stiles (and Derek)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [Come talk to me on tumblr.](http://sophisticatedyet.tumblr.com/)


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